


I'm Bigger Than These Bones

by mythomagicallydelicious



Series: Who is In Control? [3]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, Wood Working, a good fluff type of chapter, carpentry, fjord's been working on his CHA score for a while, post orphanage pre sailor days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:00:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24063253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythomagicallydelicious/pseuds/mythomagicallydelicious
Summary: Fjord is sent out from the orphanage when he comes of age, and he doesn't know where to go. He finds at least something to pass the time and keep him fed the first year away from the only home he's ever known.
Relationships: fjord and andre (oc)
Series: Who is In Control? [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735969
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	I'm Bigger Than These Bones

**17**

“Alright you lot, you knew your time was coming. We need beds for the next batch of kids they’re dumping on us. Good luck out there.” Fjord nodded along with the six or seven kids next to him. Well. He guesses they were adults now. Old enough to leave the orphanage to make room for all the other unfortunate souls with no family to take them in. Fjord tightened his grip on his satchel, clutching his few possessions closer to him as he took one last look at the place he’s called home for all seventeen years.

Woodson gave each of them two silver as a parting gift and a touch of help on their way out the door. Fjord secured his parting coin in a different pocket than the rest of the copper he’d managed to scrape up over the years, trying to come up with some sort of plan as they all walked out.

He looked back to the building one last time before squaring his shoulders and heading deeper into the city. It’s not like he’d never been around town before. But he’d never left the orphanage with the knowledge he wasn’t going back later in the day. Quickly he split off from the others. He hadn’t been close with any of the other “graduated” orphans and he didn’t want to associate with them any further.

He passed the semi-familiar shops and markets, thinking about where he should go. He was free to do whatever he wanted. He just… had no idea what he wanted. As he wandered the streets he got a few distrustful glances. He ducked his head and hunched over slightly. He checked his tusks with one hand, ensuring they were still shaved completely down, hoping he didn’t stick out too bad if the worst thing going for him was the green skin.

Reassured they were shaved down, he dropped his hand and turned down a side alley. He took a moment, leaning against the stone wall to just breathe. After a few moments passed he continued down the alley, hoping to find something on the other side to give him an idea of what he should do.

The narrow walkway opened up to a different portion of the craft and trade side of the market. Workshops with dedicated owners and interesting displays decorated the walls with examples of their wares. A carpentry shop caught his eye as he spotted a lone man lugging equipment back and forth from his work table, before sitting down and fine-tuning the crafting of what appeared to be a chair. Fjord could see wood scraps off to the side and an overall mess to the shop that said the man worked alone.

“Hello, sir!” He calls out, coming around to the open end of the shop. The man looks up from his sanding tools and squints at him.

“Eh? Oh, hello there, friend,” the man says, setting the leg down and standing with a stretch. “What can I do for you?”

Fjord adjusted the strap of his satchel, fiddling with one frayed end of it with one hand while he spoke. “Well, actually, I was hoping to offer you something, sir. I was wondering if you could use an apprentice? I could help upkeep the state of the shop, and hopefully learn more than I already do about the fine craft of woodworking?” Fjord asks, trying hard not to bite his lip, looking up with hope in his eyes.

The man looks over him, scratching at the gray stubble on his chin as he does so. He didn’t appear to be more than forty or so, but his hair seemed to age much faster than the rest of him. “How much do you already know about woodworking, then? I’ve been a carpenter for nearly 25 years, son.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I have the strongest foundation, but I would be willing to work hard in return for meals and a place to stay. I’m coming from across town, from the orphanage, you see, and they just turn us loose with no plans. Growing up we made money for the institution by selling crafts and creations we tinkered out of wood. Nothing compared to your craftsmanship, obviously,” Fjord says as he gestures at an intricately carved walking stick to the side of the shop. “But it kept us fed. I can’t say I have many other skills to speak of, but I am willing to learn everything I can, sir.”

The man looked over him critically. Fjord tried not to squirm, but it was hard. Finally after a stretched moment, he spoke.

“We’ll do a trial run, lad. See how you do for a couple o’ weeks, and then I’ll decide. But you do everything I ask, you got it?”

Fjord nodded eagerly. “Of course, sir.”

“Hmph,” the man snorted. “Alright, kid. The name’s Andre. What do I call you?”

“Fjord uh,” Fjord stalled out for a moment. “Just Fjord, sir.”

“Alright, put ‘er there, Fjord, let’s shake on it like men.” Andre held out his hand and Fjord reached forward eagerly, nearly bumping into the other man in his haste to shake the offered hand. He couldn’t believe his luck!

“Set yer bag to the side. First thing’s first, clean up the shop. It’s a mess in here. Broom and pan is behind that divider,” Andre pointed off to one side where a wood divider stood partially opened by the back wall, hiding a smaller doorway from the sight of the main shop. Fjord saw a ladder through the doorway and assumed Andre lived above his shop. Common, in Port Damali. A lot of shop-owners managed to live in the same building as their business.

Andre settled back at his station, occasionally handing out an instruction for Fjord to follow and the rest of the day passed quickly. When the time came to close up shop, Andre pulled the doors closed and locked up, gesturing for Fjord to follow him back towards the divider that hid the ladder room.

“You can bunk up here with me. I ain’t got a wife or kids, and I never really learned how to cook worth a dam. But it’ll fill you up.”

“That’s good enough for me, sir,” Fjord said sincerely.

“Good, ‘cause there wasn’t another option,” Andre laughed, slapping Fjord on the shoulder before grabbing some ingredients from a cabinet and throwing them into a stew pot.

Fjord slowly let his shoulders settle as he learned more about Andre while eating dinner. A human man who lived in Port Damali all his life, learned his craft from his father, was right about where Fjord had pegged his age on first impression.

He went to sleep that night on the floor, a borrowed bedroll for warmth as he stared into the fireplace. Planning how he needed to be in order to be kept around. Andre seemed like a good enough guy, but Fjord knew he had to be able to prove his worth in order to make the cost of taking on an apprentice worth it. He had no back up plans if this failed. He had nothing to go back to, even if he’d wanted his old life back.

First night on his own and he isn’t camping outside, though? That’s already further than he thought he’d be. Eventually he drifts into sleep still trying to figure out how he needed to act in order to be kept on by the woodworker.

-

-

“Show me what you can do with a chunk of wood, Fjord,” Andre says on the fifth morning he spends under Andre’s instruction. Fjord takes it in his hands and thinks about what he would have been instructed to do back at the orphanage. Usually the more dexterous kids were tasked with shaving down the essence of a statuette or keepsake. Most of the time Fjord felt like his fingers were too big for his hands, just a tad too long, and hard to use to shape things the way he saw in his head.

“Okay, one moment, sir” Fjord says, taking the offered block and looking at it. He could do a few basic shapes, assuming Andre meant Fjord needed to carve it, not re-craft it into a frame or something using more tools than what was laid out on the table. Looking at the shape of the scrap piece, he picked up a small chisel tool and tried to picture very clearly the view of the old lighthouse overlooking Port Damali’s bay.

He stood so the light was on his project, sending up an automatic prayer to anyone listening that his hands would be steady, for once, on a detailed project. While he worked Andre gathered his own tools and shuffled around the shop, preparing his workstation and beginning on projects he’d set aside to continue after the night before.

Fjord ignored the noise with the practice of someone who’d shared noisy, close quarters for all of his life. Everything else faded into the background as he worked to chip and detail the block in front of him. It slowly transformed into a rough, crude version of the Old Bay Lighthouse. He’d had a view of just the top of the lighthouse if he stood on the top of the bed frame closest to the window in their dorm. Or if he managed to sneak out of sight, there was a place where one could pop up a few boards and access the tight attic space of the orphanage. While mostly there to support the structure of the building and roof, there were forgotten boxes stored up there, and a hole a seagull made in one corner that opened up a better view to the lighthouse, as well as the ocean behind it.

When Fjord felt he was done, he inspected it from all angles, giving a soft sigh, and set his tools down on the work table. He placed the small figurine down as well and it wobbled slightly before coming to rest.

“I’m finished, sir,” Fjord said, scuffing one foot and training his eyes on the table. Andre finished a delicate line on the piece he was working on before setting it down to inspect Fjord’s block.

“The lighthouse overlooking the bay just yonder?” he asked. Fjord nodded. “Not many other lighthouses to choose from ‘round here, I reckon,” he said, chuckling. “Well, I can tell ya had some practice growing up, sure thing. It’s a bit rough ‘round the edges, but I can see what you were going for, son, and it’s not too bad a paperweight.” Andre sets it down and it wobbles once more before settling.

“Thank you, sir,” Fjord says, biting his lip as he waits for the verdict.

Andre looked over Fjord and he tried not to squirm. He was used to being appraised for worth, but it never made him comfortable. He never felt like he should come out the other side actually having value seen in him. He grabbed the edge of his shirt to keep from fidgeting as he waited.

“You’ve got a lot of potential, Fjord. If ya think you want to stay here for a year or so, I can teach you what I know, set you up as an apprentice like you asked a couple weeks ago. See where the sea breeze blows, yeah?”

Fjord felt relief wash over him in a tidal wave. He found a place to stay! And better yet, he found a way to be useful, and to learn how to keep being useful. Maybe woodworking would never be his favorite thing in the world, but it was better than the alternative he knew a lot of orphans ran to after getting pushed out. Starving or homeless. Or whisked away on a ship. He didn’t have any great love for the city but he couldn’t imagine jumping into the unknown world of seafaring without a little life experience first.

“That sounds excellent to me,” Fjord smiled wide, shaking hands once more with Andre. “I’ll work very hard for you, sir, it won’t be a waste of your time or efforts to teach me, I promise.”

Andre nodded. “Good to hear, Fjord. Alright, let’s get you started on the basics of detail work, alright? I’m working on a commission right now for one of the lords uptown. You will not be touching his commission, but you will learn a lot by watching and trying to emulate on some scrap. Pull up a stool and follow along, son.”

Fjord hopped to, dragging a stool over to the workbench and pulling out his own tools to start noting how Andre carefully chiseled layer after layer of detail and fine crafting into the design.

-

**18**

When Fjord left Andre’s shop, he took his first wobbly carving of the Old Bay Lighthouse with him, as well as a carpentry tool kit, a pocket knife with a fine wooden handle, and the clothes, satchel, and scarce belongings he’d had with him when he’d first approached the man a year ago.

For the last few months, he’d spent more of his free time down by the docks, watching the comings-and-goings of various ships, listening to the sailors talk, and just generally taking in the environment of being among so many seafarers. The view was spectacular. The ocean breeze, though sometimes pungent, was refreshing. Seagulls cried overhead and sometimes landed close to where he usually sat on a low stone wall not far from the docks themselves.

Andre was good to him. A fair man, skilled at both his craft and at explaining it to Fjord. But as the months had worn on Fjord could feel his energy being sapped from him. His routine, though different, felt too similar to that of his youth. Work all day, follow orders, make crafts and curse quietly at the splinters. It was nice to have a steady roof over his head, as well as a fuller belly than he’d been used to at the orphanage. Sharing a meal between two was much simpler than sharing a meal amongst sixty-some children of various ages.

But he hated it. And Andre could tell he wasn’t invested in it. It wasn’t anything personal, and there wasn’t a deadline set by either party. But Fjord felt he should move on as soon as he knows where he’s going next. Something about the ocean was calling to him much stronger now than it had a year ago.

He got his bearings and found the rhythm of the docks, following people and conversations and figuring out who he needed to talk to in order to get work. The harbormaster was an option, as was going straight to the captains. He spent his fair amount of time in taverns populated by a mixture of crewmen, gathering information from gossip and loud tales told over ale.

He found his way onto a ship as a carpenter, but let it be known he was interested in learning other aspects of sailing. The first mate let him know what was expected of him, and told him when to report before shipping out later that week.

He shared one last meal with Andre, thanking the man for everything he’d learned and shared with him over the year. Andre gave him a firm handshake and one last parting gift in the pre-dawn the day Fjord would be heading out. A medallion, wooden, but made of a very fine wood reserved only for the lords of the town, usually, who paid out the nose for fancy items from craftsmen like Andre. Engraved in intense detail was a much better rendition of the Old Bay Lighthouse, with a view of the ocean and rising sun beyond it.

“Good luck, Fjord. Hope you find something more yer suit than what you found here. Given a few years, we could’ve shaped you into a pretty good carver, I’m sure. But take it from me—you don’t want to get caught in something you hate. Better to explore while you’re young and have time. It’s been good having some company. Safe travels.”

Fjord nodded back, an unexpected lump in his throat at the kind parting words. “Thank you, sir. May your business continue to prosper with one less mouth eating into your profits.” They share a final laugh together and Fjord turns, looking down at the medallion in his hands before slinging it on over his head, hiding it beneath his shirt as he treks down to the docks, and to whatever he’ll find on the open seas.


End file.
